


Gelt for Your Thoughts

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hanukkah, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Character, Jewish Fitzsimmons, S'vivon | Dreidel, Strip Dreidel, and i can't believe this is already a tag but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Lance has an idea.Jemma is not on board, until she is.Fitz doesn't know why he makes bad decisions.





	Gelt for Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> HANUKKAH IS IN A WEEK YALL. ONE WEEK 
> 
> theclaravoyant wanted to see a lance + jemma and/or fitz hanukkah fic and who am i to say no to the people!

Jemma is determined not to look up, not to acknowledge the man that somehow manages to make the rolling chair too loud as he scoots in next to her at her desk, sniffs loudly, nudges her chair with his foot, and then sighs. She doesn’t know if the fresh-from-the-gym stench is because he’s trying to gross her out (whether or not he intended it, that is the effect) or, judging by the way he’s anxiously tapping his foot, he’s just had some sort of revelation and it couldn’t wait until after a nice, hot shower. He lets his head flop back in true dramatic fashion as she continues to mark notes on her lab report, before he finally gives up waiting and forcibly turns her chair to face him.

Jemma rolls her eyes, more for display than actual annoyance. “What, Lance?”

“I’ve had an idea,” he says, hands rising before him as if to brace her.

“Must’ve hurt,” she snips, “but, sadly, I have no time for you right now, nor would I care if I did.”

She makes to turn back to her report, very pointedly—but he catches the back of her chair and shoves her out into the space between the desks.

She huffs as she slowly rolls away from her papers, shaking her head in irritation. “You are a child,” she says. “An actual child.”

“Just hear me out.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You don’t even know what it is!”

“Yes,” she admits, eyes squinting, “but I know it’ll be stupid.”

“I mean …” Hunter tilts his head. “-it _is_ , but that shouldn’t stop you from hearing it.”

She pops open her mouth, eyes wandering toward the ceiling in mock thought, just drawing out the moment, letting him grow a tad hopeful before the resounding, “No.”

“You know how much I stink right now,” he says threateningly, and her eyes narrow again. “I know the combination to your bunk. I will go in there, and I will lay in your bed. And I will not wash the sheets afterwards.”

Her nose scrunches. “Why are you so gross?”

“That opinion is not going to change in the next minute.”

Jemma’s eyes close in preparation for an eye-roll that turns out to be too powerful to come to fruition. “Alright. Alright, fine. What is this big idea you’ve had that you absolutely couldn’t wait to tell me?”

“Strip dreidel.”

Her eyes pop open out of sheer confusion more than anything. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then purses her lips. Finally, a small, “Excuse me?” manages to escape.

“Yeah, it’s …” He waves his hand like he’s waiting for her to catch up to his brilliant plan. “It’s dreidel, but instead of trading gelt, you trade clothes. Like … if you get _shin_ , you take an article of clothing off, if you get _hey_ , you put on one, _gimel_ gets you a full set of clothes back …”

“No, no, I—” She holds up a hand, imploring him to stop, and then touches it to her forehead. “I get it. I understand the rules. I- I just … Why? Is my question. Why would you want to do such a thing.”

“Well, me and Bob used to play it, but she’s off on a mission—who knows when she’s coming back—and the base is so empty without everyone here and—” His voice takes on a whiny quality. “-I just thought it would be fun. I’m so bored.”

“So, this isn’t even a new idea.”

“The new idea was for us to play it together.” He motions between them.

“You know, you’re just—” Her hands shake by the side of her face, too furious to contain the movement. “You’re so disrespectful! This isn’t even your culture! This is a sacred holiday and this is a game meant for children to enjoy with their families and you—! Ugh!”

Hunter quickly rears back, hands raised. “Fitz already okayed it. And, technically, it was Bobbi’s idea first—”

Jemma shakes her head. “Fitz said yes to this?”

“I mean … Is he going to get in trouble if I say yes?”

“Of course.”

“Yes. Yes, he did.”

She’s up and out of her chair before she has time to think about it, storming through the mostly-empty lab and towards Fitz’s bunk.

“He’s in the living room,” Hunter peeps up helpfully behind her.

She changes course without acknowledging him, and then, too upset to keep it back, “I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“Because of my dashing good looks,” he says. “But, in any case, you should lighten up. I don’t see why you’re so upset. It’s just a game.”

“Don’t tell me to lighten up!” she snaps. “And it’s not just a game, it’s a symbol. It represents a tradition that you can’t understand.”

“You’re barely even—”

“If you say I’m barely even Jewish I will actually punch you.” She shoots him a glare over her shoulder for effect. “Jewish atheists are just a Jewish as anyone else.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Yes it is.”

But that’s when they burst into the living room, where Fitz is sitting on the couch playing a video game. He glances up only briefly, and then pauses the game and gives them a full slack-jawed stare when he realizes who it is and what expressions they’re wearing.

“Oh god, you told her.”

“Did you seriously okay this!?”

Fitz stands with his hands held in surrender. “O-Okay … Look … Okay … I just … I thought it was funny?”

“Fitz!” Jemma cries.

“Jemma, come on,” Fitz implores. “It’s harmless.”

“Not to me,” she says.

Fitz is opening his mouth to reply, but it’s Hunter who cuts in, “Get a little beer into you and you’ll get right over those hang-ups. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Hunter—” Fitz says.

“Fine.”

Both of the men blink at her. But an idea is forming in Jemma’s head.

“Eight o’clock. My bunk. You bring the beer, I’ll bring the dreidel.” As she exits the room she tosses over her shoulder, “But you really must shower first.”

-

Jemma anxiously rolls the dreidel between her hands as the clock ticks closer to eight. The dreidel is tried and true—she’s had it since she was a child, blue with gold carvings on each side, a good weight to it, not too small, or big enough to be unruly. During a lonely holiday season in college, she’d gotten curious wondering if the carvings made the little top uneven. She’d run numerous tests, but it turned out it landed on each side with the same frequency. But in her many trials she’d accidentally discovered just how to spin it to get it to land on what she wanted.

She doesn’t know why she feels so flushed; she’s not wearing that many layers. Just a blouse and a blazer, the same thing she’d been wearing earlier that day. The boys will probably layer up in preparation, but she was planning on wiping the floor with them anyway. She’s probably just still upset, if the vague rolling of her stomach has any meaning.

“ _Sevivon …_ ” she sings quietly under her breath. “ _Sov sov sov …_ ”

The knock comes right on the dot, and she swings the door open with grave importance, chin tilted up and eyes predatory. True to form, Hunter and Fitz are laden to the ears with layers and layers of clothes—mittens and all.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Hunter asks.

She shows them inside, where her nightstand is pulled into the center of the room, top bare.

“Should we run down the rules first?” she asks.

Hunter sets a six-pack on her desk. “ _Nun_ means you do nothing, _shin_ means take one off, _hey_ means put one on, _gimel_ means you get a full set back. You strip until you get to underwear, at which point you’re allowed to forfeit or keep going. Hats are allowed but jewelry does not count. Any questions?”

Fitz hesitantly raises a hand.

“Yes, Fitz?”

“Do bra and knickers count as two?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Fitz,” Jemma starts, a little aghast, “are you wearing a bra?”

Fitz’s face turns beet red.

“Where did you get a bra?” she laments.

Fitz clears his throat, but says nothing.

Hunter claps his hands. “Alright! Let’s get this show on the road!”

-

They start out a little slow. The dreidel is giving away _hey_ ’s. Hunter is the first one to get a _gimel_ , with no clothes taken off. Jemma has to spin out a _shin_ just to get the party rolling, and she rolls her eyes when Hunter wolf whistles her taking off her shoes. But, eventually the boys start losing clothes, and Jemma loses just enough to not be suspicious at first. She’s careful not to let herself get too many _gimel_ ’s, just every now and then so she doesn’t get down too much. The boys are both a little drunk by the time they strip the many layers they wear and are down to the last layer.

Jemma leans her hip against the frame of her bed, a little tipsy herself. “Come on Fitz,” she jeers, “take it _off_.”

Fitz has his hands on his hips, clearly regretting every decision he’d ever made in his whole entire life. But, the dreidel was clear. It was a _shin_. And he was down to his boxers and shirt.

Hunter takes a swig of his beer. “Come on, mate, what is it? Don’t want us to find out you wax or something?”

Fitz shakes his head, then pinches his nose. “It … It was a precautionary measure. I didn’t think it would get this far.”

“ _Take it off!_ ” Jemma hoots.

With a strangled sigh, Fitz reaches for the back of his collar and pulls off his t-shirt in one swift motion.

Hunter chokes on his beer, a little bit dribbling out of his mouth.

“Huh.” Jemma’s head tilts. “I think this might be, like. A weird fantasy for me.” She takes a sip of beer. “That’s one of Daisy’s, isn’t it?”

Fitz looks down at the floral-patterned push-up bra he’s wearing, scratching at the back of his neck. “She’s off on the mission. I didn’t think she’d miss it.”

“I think you look dashing,” Hunter says, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist.

“Says the guy who’s wearing mittens and a cowboy hat but no pants,” Fitz shoots back.

Jemma tries to keep the smirk off her face as her plan starts coming to fruition. “I’ll make you a deal. If I land on a _hey_ on this, I’ll let you put your shirt back on … But you have to do something for me first.”

“What?” Fitz asks cautiously, eyes narrowed.

“You …” She pretends to think about it. “You have to do a little dance.”

Fitz scoffs. “No! I’m not a dancing monkey.”

Hunter gives a hum.

“It’s either that or you stay in the bra,” Jemma says, feigning indifference. “And maybe Daisy hears about it, or maybe she doesn’t … Who am I to control what rumors start leaking about the base?”

“Fine,” Fitz gripes, “but you won’t land a _hey,_ anyway.”

Jemma gives an innocent little shrug, and spins the dreidel.

And it lands on _hey_.

Hunter barks a laugh, and Fitz’s mouth drops open.

“Time to pay up,” Jemma says.

Grudgingly, face flushed bright, Fitz jerks his arms back and forth in a bad impression of a robot. When he’s done, he whips his shirt back on and crosses his arms over his chest.

Hunter covers his face in second-hand embarrassment.

The night goes on like this for a while, Jemma offering them more clothes in exchange for little embarrassments—gibber like a monkey, pat your head and rub your stomach, jump on one foot. It’s all silly, harmless stuff. But it’s getting to them, she can tell.

And Jemma continues to pile on clothes, no longer masking her winning streak. She puts on Fitz’s pants and shoes, and Hunter’s fur-lined winter jacket and mittens. She’s pulling on Fitz’s beanie when Hunter exclaims, “She’s cheating! She’s got to be cheating!”

Jemma inspects herself in the mirror as she adjusts the beanie on her head, fixing her hair beneath it. “I will not confirm or deny.” All the clothes are too big on her, and she looks ridiculous, but she feels powerful, and that’s what’s important in the end.

Fitz plops onto the edge of the bed, clad in just his boxers for the umpteenth time. “I give up. I can’t beat her.”

Jemma quirks an eyebrow, smiling at Hunter. He’s down to his briefs and—as he refuses to take it off—the cowboy hat.

“One last round?” she asks. “Winner take all?”

The challenge glints in his eyes. “Deal.”

“Your move.”

Hunter blows out an even breath to steady his shaking fingers. Then he reaches out, and spins the dreidel.

_Shin_.

Jemma laughs as it lands, and she keeps laughing until Hunter’s briefs drop to the ground.

“Oh, god!” she says, covering her eyes.

“ _Dude,_ ” Fitz whines. “Cover it up.”

When Jemma peeks out from between her fingers, Hunter is covering his privates with the cowboy hat.

“This was supposed to be about embarrassing you,” Jemma says, “but clearly you have no shame.”

“Not after the third beer I don’t,” he admits. And then he pulls out Jemma’s desk chair and sits, bare ass cheeks to leather.

“No—” Jemma says, reaching out, but it’s too late. Too buzzed to fight it, she walks over to the head of her bed and collapses, gathering the winter jacket around herself as she gets comfortable, letting Fitz’s shoes fall to the ground. Fitz falls back and crawls toward the line of covers, slipping underneath them with a drunken murmur and burying his face into one of her pillows.

“Did’y have fun?” Hunter asks, free hand propped behind his head.

“That wasn’t the point,” she says, nursing the last beer she’ll have for the night.

“Wh’ was the point?” Fitz mumbles.

“Making the both of you realize how stupid this whole thing is.”

“Only made me realize how good you are at dreidel,” Hunter says. “Where’d you learn?”

Jemma clutches the beer a little tighter. “I taught myself how to get it to land right the first winter I was away for college. I couldn’t afford to go back to see my family, so I was alone for weeks in the dorms. Had a lot of time to practice. But before that I would play every year with my brothers. They would always share their gelt with me, even if they won.”

“Is that what this is about?” Hunter asks, suddenly serious.

Jemma’s lips thin. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time,” she says. “I just miss them, that’s all.”

“’S a tradition that’s important to you, and we were disrespecting it,” Fitz says, sounding more sober than his flushed cheeks would imply.

She quirks a sad smile. “I shouldn’t have been so uptight. I just get more emotional around the holidays. I know how important the work we do here is, but sometimes I miss just getting to spend Hanukkah with my family—making latkes and matzo ball soup, lighting the candles, opening presents. It was tradition. It was nice.”

Hunter gets up and quickly pulls his briefs back over his hips, flips off the light so only the lamp is on, and then walks over to the bed and shoves at Fitz. “Scoot, mate.”

Fitz wriggles over, but he’s going too slow and Hunter is too drunk to be patient, so he pushes Fitz over, which pushes him into Jemma.

“Hey!” she cries. “You’re pushing me off the bed.”

She ends up having to hop over Fitz to the middle of the bed so she doesn’t fall, which seemed to be Hunter’s plan anyway. He gets under the covers and lies down, obviously inviting himself to stay, as had Fitz (which Jemma can’t find it in herself to complain about). He waits until she, still on top of the covers, but plenty warm because of the jacket, lies down as well, before he reaches over.

“Where’s—” Finally, he finds her face, and gives her cheek a few good pats. “S’alright, love,” he says. “You’ve got us now.”

“Yeah,” Jemma says. She was expecting it to feel like a consolation prize, but lying there in the dim light of her lamp, Hunter’s hand resting on the pillow next to her cheek, Fitz breathing steadily on the other side of her, she finds that it doesn’t. “I know.”


End file.
